The Endurance of Memory
by Mezo Phane
Summary: Dedicated to Ne'ith5. Sequel to my previous fic, The Will of Admiral Christopher McKinnies Pike. How does Number One cope when the Admiralty tells her that they are decommissioning her Yorktown? Or: Jim Kirk is a devious jerk.


**A.N.1: Ok, I completely forgot that the starbase in ST: Beyond was called Yorktown. I completely forgot. Well, I found a fix, and managed to create yet more Number One, Jim, and Pike feels. I'd almost feel bad, but then, this fandom could always use more of these three.**

**Dedicated to Ne'ith5, who so kindly reviewed my previous fic, The Will of Admiral Christopher McKinnies Pike!**

**Disclaimer: Not Mine!**

* * *

One month into the _Enterprise_'s five year mission, on the starship _USS Yorktown_

"What do you mean, you're decommissioning the _Yorktown_? Sir?" Number One emphatically asked Admiral Barnett.

He at least, had the grace to look apologetic. "The _Yorktown_ is part of a practically ancient class that Starfleet always intended to phase out within this year. I'm sorry to tell you that that time has come. It's because of the respect and friendship I had for Chris that I'm the one to tell you, and not Komack. Archer thought it'd go down better coming from me. And I can tell he was right."

"This ship is a part of history, Sir. She does not deserve to be melted down for scrap."

"I know, but this is one thing that cannot be changed. This is happening, Captain. If it's any consolation, you'll be able to keep all crew with you who don't want to transfer out, and you'll be getting a brand new Constitution-Class."

She blinked, torn between happily acknowledging that, and continuing to rail against what she thought of as the unfairness of the situation. She took a deep breath, needing to get off this comm so she could process all of this. "Thank you very much, Admiral, for informing me of this."

Barnett sighed, understanding the reason behind the brusqueness of her tone. "You're welcome, Captain. We'll inform you when it's time."

"Yes, Sir." She tapped the button to end the comm and rose, striding out of her ready room. She absently told Commander Saru, her First Officer, he had the bridge, and just began to walk around her ship. Yes, she was old, the _Yorktown_, but she was a good ship. Served the Federation well — first under Captain April, then Chris, and now her.

It was a strange thing; her Illyrian logic told her that this level of attachment to an inanimate ship was inordinate, and yet. And _yet_. Years and years of memories, perfectly recalled, flashed through her mind's eye, memory upon memory, each moment in bold, as if someone had taken a metaphorical highlighter and ran it through her mind.

All of the memories were dear to her — the loud, booming chuckle of Captain April. His unique method of encouragement, which she had experienced as a green helmswoman, Captain April seeing right through her. Taking the turbolift up to the bridge. The way the helm station felt under her hands. Her involuntary, cursory look around the bridge every time they escaped a situation where they all, by rights, should've died. All the successful missions. Sitting and having her usual quiet meals in the mess hall. Captain April eventually insisting that she sit with him and his young First Officer, Commander Christopher Pike, when she was a young Lieutenant, starting a tradition that lasted even after Captain April left them.

Her first away mission with Chris. His warm hand on her shoulder as she struggled to keep her emotions in control after not all of them made it back. Her letting him do that every single time her control faltered, his steady presence a comfort she couldn't help but allow herself. The comforting embraces when his hand wasn't enough. Her doing the same for him when everything was too much, even for the great Captain Pike. Their daily runs together. Briefing him as they walked to the bridge. Their lunches in the _Yorktown_'s ready room. Him being the only person that she sang Gilbert and Sullivan to. She had done it when they were stuck in a turbolift, and to this day had no idea why. Her easy banter with Chris as he complained about the amount of paperwork he had. Her needling him to do it, to get it over with. His insufferable whining when he refused. Her having to threaten him with bodily harm if he moved from that chair. His inevitable sigh and subsequent completion of the paperwork. Her promising to make it up to him with another helping of dessert, because the truth was that Captain Christopher Pike had an incorrigible sweet tooth. The way his voice managed to calm their crew in a crisis. His smile.

Meeting him on one of the observation decks when he told her that he needed to speak with her about something important. The look in his eyes as he told her that he was going to be transferred off of _Yorktown_, that he would become Captain of the new Constitution-Class ship, the new flagship of the fleet. Her not being able to settle for that hand that predictably settled onto her shoulder, pulling him into a tight hug at the sheer shock that had run through her. The faint scent of sandalwood that she had always associated with him filling her senses as she buried her face in his shoulder. The way his hand ran over her hair. The joy mixed with sorrow she felt as he told her that he was recommending her to take over as Captain of the _Yorktown_. The unabashed pride in his eyes when he saw her in her new dress uniform, Captain's rank insignia gleaming on her epaulets, as he handed the captaincy of the _Yorktown_ to her.

It was all too much, she realized. She tore herself from her thoughts, and practically ran to her quarters, needing to comm the one person who could possibly understand.

* * *

As soon as the comm miraculously connected, she said, "They want to kill her, Jim."

"Hello, Jim, how are you? How's everything going? Find anything interesting on your five-year mission? Good! Glad to hear it!" He sarcastically said, grin incorrigible.

"Hello, Jim, how are you? How's everything going? Find anything interesting on your five-year mission?" Number One parroted back at him, to his pleased smile.

"Yes, and things are going well for me and everyone else. Thank you for asking! Now, who is it they want to kill?"

"The _Yorktown_."

Jim's face twisted into a mix of indecipherable emotions. "It was going to happen eventually, One. She's old, and impossible to retrofit."

"Logically, I know you're correct, but it nauseates me, the thought that she'll be disassembled for scrap. She is a piece of history. She doesn't deserve to be treated that way." One replied, instinctively keeping her deepest emotions guarded. Unknowingly, she began to fidget with the band of white gold on her left hand, the one its former owner should've placed on her finger himself.

Eagle eyed as always, James noticed the motion and called her out on it. "Be honest with me, One. Tell me the truth."

She sighed, uncharacteristically fumbling for words. "There's… she's been there for me, the _Yorktown_. She's all I've known for years. She was my first assignment as an officer."

"Memories. That's the whole answer, and yet it's not. Come on, One," he replied bluntly.

"You're honestly going to make me do this?"

"You could've called Spock, but you called me. So, yeah."

"Fine." Her voice wobbled, but she continued, "Every corner of this ship, there's some memory attached to it of me and Chris. Everywhere I look, he's there. And I suppose I'm afraid that if I let her go, I'll forget him. And I don't want that," she said, matter-of-factly.

"You couldn't forget him, One. You know why?"

"I suppose you'll tell me."

"Yep. Because he's right here." He pointed to his heart. "As long as you keep that in mind, it'll be easier to let Yorktown go. She's scene setting, special scene setting, yes, but the real gift are your memories. And I know you're Illyrian, so it's practically impossible for you to forget anything."

"I know. I know." Her voice broke at her last words, and she ducked her head, wishing more than ever for Chris' hand on her shoulder. Once she collected herself, One looked up to see a gentle smile on Jim's face, free of pity, full of compassion.

"As long as we remember him, as long as there are people who remember him, he lives on."

She nodded, silence the only thing being transmitted over the subspace channel for a few minutes. After a while, Jim started talking again. "I was looking through Chris' things a while back. There was a frame hanging in his study. It's this poem from Old Earth. It goes, 'It little profits that an idle king,'"

She cut him off, finishing the stanza, "'By this still hearth, among these barren crags, Match'd with an aged wife, I mete and dole Unequal laws unto a savage race, That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me'. Ulysses. By Tennyson. That was his favorite poem; he'd often quote it."

"It really hit me, so I had it copied and I put the copy in my ready room."

Following another nod, she said, "Barnett told me I can take all the crew who want to come with me to my new ship. And my new ship will be a Constitution-Class, apparently."

Jim's face lit up. "We'll be twins, One!"

"We will have ships of the same class, Jim, but we will not be twins. We could technically be twins if my ship were NCC-1702, but that is the _USS Boscovich_. I am to receive NCC-1703, oddly unnamed at this time."

"Ehh. Details."

This coaxed a smile from One.

"There now. There's that smile. You'll get through this, I know you will."

"Thank you, Jim."

"Not a problem. Call me again if you need anything, and I mean anything."

"I will. Thank you again, Jim."

At his smile and nod, she ended the comm, not knowing how his smile turned devious and scheming. Jim immediately started another comm, this time to Starfleet Command. He now knew what he wanted to name the ship he was sponsoring.

* * *

Six months later

"Captain Una, report to these coordinates by tomorrow, 0800 Federation Standard time, for transfer of _Yorktown_ to Starfleet Command," the venerable Admiral Jonathan Archer said, over the high priority subspace comm.

She sighed. So the hammer was to fall. It was not as if she had not prepared and resigned herself to the inevitable, but it still stung, nevertheless. "Yes, Sir."

"I know you're sad to see her go, Captain, I felt the same way when I had to give up my Enterprise, but I will tell you, your new ship, well, she's glorious."

"May I know the name of my ship, Admiral, so that I may have my yeoman place it on the paperwork?"

With a mischievous look in his eyes, he replied, "Don't worry about that Captain, just send whatever paperwork you have as is, I'll personally handle it."

"Sir —"

"Ah, no arguments, Captain, just send them in. And you'll find out her name soon enough, when you get there."

"Yes, Sir."

"Good! Archer out."

The comm disconnected, and she sat there, contemplating. Typically, they would have already named the ship years ago, and the name of a new ship of the line would be common knowledge this close to her maiden voyage. None of the reasons to keep it a secret seemed plausible, but she had been contemplating long enough. She rose and went back to the bridge, giving the coordinates to her helmswoman, because if she lingered any longer, judging from the coordinates, they'd be a bit later than anyone would like, and promptness was something that she prided herself on.

The next day, One stepped onto the bridge in her dress uniform, to see the hypnotic sight of the warp bubble blurring the star field ahead as she settled into the center seat for the last time. "Estimated time to coordinates, Santos?" She asked her helmswoman.

"Ten minutes, Ma'am."

"Good." She opened the shipwide broadcast channel, waiting for the announcement tone to fade before speaking. "Attention _Yorktown_. This is your Captain. The _Yorktown_ has had a long and storied history as one of the longest serving ships in Starfleet history. She has served the Federation and us well, getting us, her crew, through adversity time and again. To outsiders, she is just a piece of dilithium powered duranium, one that is long past her prime. To us, however, she has been our home, our safe harbor, our constant. They may take her apart, piece by piece, melt her down, hurl her into the heart of a star, but they can never take our memories of her, our _Yorktown_, away from us. As long as we remember her, she lives on." Determinedly, One cleared the lump in her throat, then continued, "For most of us, today, we step forward onto our new ship, our new home, our new safe harbor, our new constant. We may not know her, but in time, I am sure we will feel as strongly about her as we do _Yorktown_. To those of you not moving on with us, it has been an honor to be your Captain, and may you find fulfillment in your new postings. Thank you for your attention." One tapped the button, ending the shipwide broadcast.

She ran her hands over the armrests, taking in her bridge. They soon burst out of warp, to the sight of a massive, shining starbase before them. She now recalled the news of Starfleet building a new starbase before the edge of deep space, and realized that this must be it. The chime of an audio hail resounded through the bridge, her communications officer saying, "We're being hailed, Captain."

"Put them through, Aunè."

"_USS Yorktown_, This is Commodore Paris, of the _Starbase Yorktown_, you have permission to dock."

You could've heard a pin drop on the bridge of the starship. One didn't quite know how to feel, that they named the starbase after the _Yorktown_, that even long after her new ship would be decommissioned, this starbase would still be out here, bearing her beloved ship's name. But she put aside her feelings, and remained professional.

"Thank you, Commodore, beginning docking procedure," she replied. "Santos, begin docking procedure."

"Yes, Ma'am."

Santos' sure hand at the helm had them docked in no time, and once they received confirmation of secure docking, the bridge crew began to file out. Eventually, the only remaining people were her and Commander Saru. "Ma'am," he began.

"Go ahead, Commander, I'll be down in a few minutes."

The Kelpien blinked, and with an understanding nod, stepped onto the turbolift.

One rose from the command chair, moving to the helm station, running her fingers over the controls one last time, and looked out the viewscreen. "Goodbye, old girl," she whispered. Turning, she walked to the turbolift, but couldn't resist placing her hand on the black synthleather of the command chair's backrest in final benediction, as she passed.

When the remaining crew of the _USS Yorktown_ stepped onto _Starbase Yorktown_, One and Saru were greeted by Admiral Archer and Commodore Paris, an older, dark-haired human woman.

One and Saru snapped to attention, the whole crew behind them doing the same.

"At ease," Admiral Archer cried.

When they had all settled into parade rest, One said, "According to Starfleet regulation number 28453, the crew of the USS Yorktown is reporting for duty, sir!"

Admiral Archer replied, "According to Starfleet regulation number 28453, subsection one, you are relieved of duty aboard the _USS Yorktown_." Paris and Archer saluted, his old bones still as quick as ever.

Once the crew had returned the salute, Commodore Paris stepped forward, saying, "If you'll follow me, I will take you to your new command, Captain."

It was quite the sight, the whole crew of a starship, preceded by the Starbase Commander and Starfleet's most respected Admiral, moving in concert to the next dock. The dockway soon opened into the entrance hall of the brand new Constitution-Class, her every surface bright and untouched. Finally, they approached the grand wall bearing the registry and name of the ship. In bold black, were the numbers and letters of the registry. NCC-1703. And below it, was the name of their new home. _USS Ulysses_. Were she human, One had no doubt that she'd be crying. But as it was, the only sign that she was emotional was the slight tightness around her eyes and mouth.

"According to Starfleet regulation 28454, I present you, Captain Una, with your new orders," Admiral Archer intoned, holding out a small PADD.

Taking the device with a steady hand that belayed her emotions, she read, "'Captain Eurè'tahjèhanè'vesran'felèanthè Una, you are hereby ordered to take command of the vessel _USS Ulysses_ and serve the Federation, maintaining its line of defense in the Laurentian System.' I accept my orders, Sir!" One cried.

"Then set the watch, Captain," Archer replied.

"Commander Saru, the watch!"

"Bridge crew! To stations!"

Soon, the shipwide broadcast system chimed. "Captain Una, the sponsor of the ship for the crew."

"Put them through."

The static over the line was heavy, but it quickly cleared for all to hear, to One's shock, "This is Captain James Tiberius Kirk, of the _USS Enterprise_. Man our ship and bring her to life!"

"Aye-Aye, Sir!" Was the deafening cry, as the crew ran to the rails all through the ship.

One shook hands with Paris and Archer, "Thank you, Sir, thank you, Ma'am."

"You're welcome, Captain," Paris smiled.

"Don't mention it, Captain, and tell Jim Kirk that he owes me big time," Archer said, with a wink.

One saluted the two of them one last time, and after they they returned it, they departed.

One eventually found her way to her new ready room, with a mission to get ahold of one James T. Kirk.

"Aunè, place an eyes only comm to the _Enterprise_ for Captain Kirk."

"He's still on the line, Ma'am. He's been waiting for you."

She shook her head. "Seal the channel, and transfer the comm to my ready room."

"Yes, Ma'am."

When the comm beeped, signalling that the channel was secure, the line open, One heard, "I was thinking of having it named _USS Pike_, but I decided against it, because there are still nasty jerks out there, who could make all sorts of jokes. And there's already plans to name NCC-1705 after him anyway, when they make her and NCC-1704, _USS Sugihara_, as you know."

"You did not tell me."

"That what, I was stumped as to what I wanted the ship I was sponsoring to be named?"

"You will tell me the whole story, without omitting anything, or I swear, I do not care where you are, I will find a way to get there, and make you feel a level of pain you have not experienced," she fumed.

"Ok, my second year in the Academy, Starfleet Command approached me, asked me to sponsor a ship. I agreed, on the condition that I get to name it. Highly, _highly_ unconventional, but because of who I am, they allowed it. I had no idea what to name it, they already named NCC-0879, which is still in service, after my dad, and Archer was threatening to name my ship the _USS Porthos_, promise be damned, but then you commed me about the _Yorktown_'s decommissioning, and I knew. That's it, that's the whole story, you do not need to come here."

"You are lucky, Jim, that I like you."

"Aw, you love me."

"Admiral Archer says you owe him big time."

"I know, I know, I'll probably end up giving some lecture at the Academy when I get back to San Francisco. And before I forget, look behind you."

One turned to see an ebony frame on the back wall of the room, the text of Tennyson's poem Ulysses printed on the canvas it held. "It's a copy of the one in Mojave, like the one in my ready room." He paused. "Now I don't care what you say, we're really twins, One."

"Thank you Jim."

"Yeah. Now get out there, One, I tell you, the warp drive on the Constitution-Class is like nothing you've ever felt."

"Until next time, Jim."

"Same here, One."

Jim ended the comm, and One stood to enter her new bridge.

"Captain on the bridge!" Her navigator proclaimed, the entire bridge crew standing.

"Gentlebeings, today we set out in our new home, let us make her proud and make her legacy as notable, if not more, than our beloved _Yorktown_."

"Yes, Ma'am!" Was the ringing reply.

The command chair was different, but not in a bad way. There was certainly more support in her lumbar region, which was definitely an improvement. As the bridge crew bustled around her, preparing for their departure, the final lines of Ulysses ran through her mind, ones that Chris often liked to say.

"_Come, my friends,_

_'Tis not too late to seek a newer world._

_Push off, and sitting well in order smite_

_The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds_

_To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths_

_Of all the western stars, until I die._

_It may be that the gulfs will wash us down:_

_It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,_

_And see the great Achilles, whom we knew._

_Tho' much is taken, much abides; and tho'_

_We are not now that strength which in old days_

_Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are;_

_One equal temper of heroic hearts,_

_Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will_

_To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield._"

Santos' voice broke through her thoughts. "Ma'am, Starbase Command confirms retraction of mooring clamps."

"Set course for the Laurentian System," One replied.

A few seconds of Santos' fingers flying over the helm station later, she said, "Course laid in."

"Maximum warp." She was about to give her usual "Engage", but then a fancy, a very illogical fancy struck her, one that she decided to follow. With a smile, she said, "Punch it."

* * *

**A.N.2: So, there's the fix. If you want to read the whole poem, of Tennyson's Ulysses, here it is:**

It little profits that an idle king,  
By this still hearth, among these barren crags,  
Match'd with an aged wife, I mete and dole  
Unequal laws unto a savage race,  
That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me.  
I cannot rest from travel: I will drink  
Life to the lees: All times I have enjoy'd  
Greatly, have suffer'd greatly, both with those  
That loved me, and alone, on shore, and when  
Thro' scudding drifts the rainy Hyades  
Vext the dim sea: I am become a name;  
For always roaming with a hungry heart  
Much have I seen and known; cities of men  
And manners, climates, councils, governments,  
Myself not least, but honour'd of them all;  
And drunk delight of battle with my peers,  
Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy.  
I am a part of all that I have met;  
Yet all experience is an arch wherethro'  
Gleams that untravell'd world whose margin fades  
For ever and forever when I move.  
How dull it is to pause, to make an end,  
To rust unburnish'd, not to shine in use!  
As tho' to breathe were life! Life piled on life  
Were all too little, and of one to me  
Little remains: but every hour is saved  
From that eternal silence, something more,  
A bringer of new things; and vile it were  
For some three suns to store and hoard myself,  
And this gray spirit yearning in desire  
To follow knowledge like a sinking star,  
Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.  
This is my son, mine own Telemachus,  
To whom I leave the sceptre and the isle,—  
Well-loved of me, discerning to fulfil  
This labour, by slow prudence to make mild  
A rugged people, and thro' soft degrees  
Subdue them to the useful and the good.  
Most blameless is he, centred in the sphere  
Of common duties, decent not to fail  
In offices of tenderness, and pay  
Meet adoration to my household gods,  
When I am gone. He works his work, I mine.  
There lies the port; the vessel puffs her sail:  
There gloom the dark, broad seas. My mariners,  
Souls that have toil'd, and wrought, and thought with me—  
That ever with a frolic welcome took  
The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed  
Free hearts, free foreheads—you and I are old;  
Old age hath yet his honour and his toil;  
Death closes all: but something ere the end,  
Some work of noble note, may yet be done,  
Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods.  
The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks:  
The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep  
Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends,  
'T is not too late to seek a newer world.  
Push off, and sitting well in order smite  
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds  
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths  
Of all the western stars, until I die.  
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down:  
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,  
And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.  
Tho' much is taken, much abides; and tho'  
We are not now that strength which in old days  
Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are;  
One equal temper of heroic hearts,  
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will  
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.

**It's a beautiful poem, one that I could totally see Captain Pike loving. It's been used in fics before, and I wanted to use a different poem, but this one just dug in, and wouldn't leave, so I pleased the muse. No plagiarism was intended. If you're wondering what Number One's fancy was that made her smile, watch Star Trek: 2009 again, particularly the scene when the _Enterprise_ is about to go to Vulcan. It's almost exactly the same scene, with One using the exact words Pike did when he ordered the _Enterprise_ to warp, except One's helmswoman doesn't forget to disengage the external inertial dampener. I hope the parallelism came through. And that I don't get sued by Paramount. **

**I named NCC-1702 and NCC-1704 after Fr. Roger Boscovich, who made many amazing contributions to science, and after Chiune Sugihara, who was a Vice Consul for the Japanese Empire in Lithuania during the Second World War, and he issued roughly 6,000 visas for Jews fleeing the horrors taking place in that part of the world during that time. He is the only Japanese person to be recognized as "Righteous Among the Gentiles" to this day. I beg you to look them up on the internet, their stories are something else.**

**I also took inspiration from the real life process of commissioning a ship in the US Navy, so what you read is a highly abbreviated version of the commissioning process, adapted for my story's needs.**

**Please read and review.**

**Live Long and Prosper!**


End file.
